The Last Arguement
by CatsbytheGreat
Summary: [PostRENT] Mark and Roger debate about why they do what they do.


**Discla****i****mer: I don't own any of the characters.**

I have always been filming. For as long as I could remember I had a camera in hand, ready to document life. When I was a kid I was always in control of the home video camera, documenting our trips and family events and even the little things of life, like my mom cooking dinner or my sister talking about her friends. There's something that attracts me to documenting life. Maybe it's the fact that whatever is on camera lasts forever, in that moment. You can't change what's already on film. You can only go where the movie takes you.

My roommate Roger Davis never understood why I had to film everything; it even annoyed him sometimes, and the subject of my filming came up in more than a few fights. He was usually the subject of my films, and while I was filming he would usually say, "Get that camera out of my face Mark!" or the more eloquent "Fuck off, Cohen!" I always kept filming anyway.

I've filmed the best times of our lives and the worst. We both tended to argue a lot. I once heard that you argue with the ones you love the most, which would explain a lot about Roger and me. We found the most interesting things to debate or argue about. A few times we delved into the philosophical. There's one particular argument I would always remember; ironically, it was also one of the few I never caught on film.

After his girlfriend Mimi died, HIV started taking its hold on Roger, and he was more confined to the loft. He passed time making up songs on his guitar, and I would film when I got the chance. One day he asked me, "Mark, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" I asked, not sure what he was talking about.

"Filming."

"Oh." Filming was like breathing to me, and I always did it. Didn't Roger know that? "I don't know what you mean."

"Why do you constantly film ordinary life? Me? It's not like its making you money. What do you gain?"

I stared at him. He was serious, as he often was. To gain time to think of a good answer, I asked, "Why do you write music? _You're_ not making any money for it, yet you still write as much as I film."

Roger frowned at me. "You never answered my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

"I asked first." I knew he would say that. Sighing, I looked around, but before I could speak Roger said, "There's a difference between my songwriting and your filming. Hell, there's a difference between songwriting and filmmaking in general." His frown deepened, and I knew he was thinking. I briefly thought of filming the conversation, but that wouldn't help my case. "I write songs…to express myself. That's what songwriting is. It's like therapy, in a way. No, I'm not making money off of it, but it's a rewarding experience either way."

"Mmm…" I said, taking it in. "Well, filming is…is…" What was filming to me? It certainly wasn't me expressing myself at all. It wasn't even a reflection, because as I filmed I documented what was going on in that moment. But when I filmed I saw things differently…"It…makes dealing with life easier, I guess. You told me I use it to detach, but I think there are benefits to seeing life from behind the lens."

Roger raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Such as?"

"You see things differently than you would without it," I explained, hoping he would understand. Because if your best friend can't understand you, who can? "Yes, you might be detached, but you can step back and see what's going on calmly and take it all in, then think about it later. It's a weird reason, but it is one."

"Okay, so it makes you able to handle things better," Roger said. "I get that. But at the end of the day what does it matter? I deal with things through songwriting, but that's after the fact. I deal with life head on. It may not seem like the best thing at first but in the end I think its better. It makes you stronger." He took a deep breath. "Songwriting wins this argument."

And for awhile it seemed that way. Was my filming really that pointless? Was I wasting time? Or was it a matter of personal preference? After all, even if I wanted to I couldn't write songs, stories, or scripts to express myself. And I've tried to write scripts. I was never an expressive person. Two things brought me back to the argument of filmmaking vs. songwriting.

First: Roger was admitted to the hospital. It wasn't like I didn't see it coming. Even without reels of film to remind me I could see how Roger had changed for the worst in a few months. He had gotten thinner, his skin paler, with dark circles under his eyes and bruises everywhere that wouldn't disappear. He was tired all the time, to a point where some days he wouldn't-couldn't-write songs or play guitar. Then he got sick-a severe case of the flu-and ended up in the hospital.

After he was admitted I came across a reel a film marked "Christmas Eve". I knew what it was before putting it on. I was asking Roger to tell me what he was doing as he tuned his guitar for the first time in a year. He kept saying that he was writing one great song, and that one sentence caused me a revelation that made me stop the reel and rush to the hospital, praying that Roger would be awake and well enough to talk when I arrived.

As I ran into the room, I saw Roger sit up, painfully, while a nurse put more pillows on his bed to support him. I came to a stop by his bed, panting, and managed to choke out, "You…said….you wanted to….write one great song…before you died."

Roger nodded, looking tired and confused. "Yeah, I did. So?"

"So, you get on me about filming for no reason, yet you said you wanted glory, you wanted something to be remembered by. But I haven't seen you start a band or make an album or anything."

Roger sighed, then said quietly, "I already found glory."

"You-what?"

"I found my song; I sang it to Mimi. And I've sang every other song to you. I didn't mean that kind of glory. I made my mark on you, and you'll remember me, I know it, so I've fulfilled my purpose in songwriting. And in life, really. After awhile, I realized that was all I wanted."

I stared at him, stunned, and incredibly touched as well. I gave him a watery smile, the argument forgotten. "Of course I'll remember you, Roger, forever." He smiled an almost relieved smile and murmured, "Thanks Mark. For everything." Then he fell asleep, grinning slightly.

When I got home I realized why I filmed, what the best thing about it was. The memories. I could relive events in my life, good or bad, anytime I wanted. And I knew, especially concerning Roger, that I wanted those memories around.

Lying down in bed I smiled to myself, knowing that this debate was a tie. I made a resolution to tell Roger what I had just realized the next day.

It was our last argument.


End file.
